


Nice Things

by thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Break Up, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Character Study, Drabble, F/M, Father Figures, First Time, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Loss of Virginity, Mental Instability, POV Second Person, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 23:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13018203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes/pseuds/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes
Summary: Perhaps you were never meant to have nice things.(A character study of Kallian Tabris and her tragic train-wreck of a life)





	Nice Things

 Perhaps you were never meant to have nice things. 

Scratch that - there was no  _perhaps_ about it, you were never, ever, in your life  _ever_ meant to have nice things. You knew this, of course - how could you not? You were born among the lowest of the low, just another dirty elf ( _knife ear_ ) in another crowded alienage. You had no more mother to speak of and a remainder of a family who pretended everything was alright and refused to admit anything different.

 When you found out you were to be married, you were shocked - someone chose  _you_ of all people? Someone actually felt you were  _worthy_ of such an absurd thing such as love? But of course that wasn't the case - it was an arranged marriage, your father having to sift through oceans of men who refused to even look at you until he finally found someone who was even remotely willing. And he made sure you knew of this struggle too, you were not allowed to go even a day without hearing how completely unlovable you were, how very undesireable, how  _disgusting_ you were.

 And then even that bad to be taken from you when a human noble decided to burst in through the alienage gates and take whatever he felt he was entitled to have. You finally got put yourself and your skills to good use, however, when you fought through wave after wave of human soldiers in an uncomfortably tight wedding dress (made to show of some of your few  _"attractive"_ traits), armed with two blades. By the time you found the filthy human scum who murderer and tried to rape your friends and family, you were panting heavily, hair dishevelled and in knots, dress torn to the point where more than half of you was spilling out of it, covered in blood and manic. You killed him with no hesitation, giggling at the sheer joy of getting revenge. 

 You took the blame for it all - you were beyong helping, anyway - and you thought that you might finally be given the death you had been wishing for.

But, once again, even the sweet release of being able to simply  _let go_ was taken from you as well - by a Grey Warden, no less, and you had just another thing ripped away from you.

* * *

 Duncan had to save you many times after that day, slaying any wild beast you had thrown yourself in front of with no intention of fighting back, swimming to fish your naked body out of freezing rivers or rain storms, forcing food and water into your body when you simply refused to take care of yourself. You felt childish, bratty, _incredibly_ stupid, yet Duncan never said anything like that. Of course, he fed you endlessly empty words, trying his best to bring some sort of light to your life. You admired him for it, how he never gave up on you even when you had so very long ago, how he never smiled because he had to, or that he felt it would help the situation, but simply because he wanted to, because your rare upward twists of lips lit up his world. He never even chewed you out when you were just plain  _rude_ to the king, he simply corrected you, moved along, then burst out laughing in front of you when you were out of sight. You actually laughed with him a little bit, and you could have  _sworn_ you saw what looked like a tear in his eye.

 Then, you remembered just how stupid it was to hope or grow close when he was torn from you too. 

* * *

 

 Alistair tried to get close to you many times, asking questions about your life in the alienage or your family. You usually redirected the conversation to him instead, and if he noticed (he did,  _of course he did_ ), he didn't say anything. He was happy to vent to you about his own hurts, if only to get you to stop sitting so close to the campire, and only feigned a sarcastic hurt when you laughed brushed off his attempts to get closer to you as another one of his jokes. You knew the weren't jokes, they never would be, no matter how much you wanted them to be.

 Eventually, though, when he found you screaming and crying and throwing blades at trees at the break of dawn, and he simply cares for your wounds afterwards, you decided that maybe he might just be worth it in the end. At first, letting him in was hard, but he was patient and always willing to crack a self-depracating joke when the tension rose too high, and soon enough, your attempts to selfishly end your own life rather than  _save the damned world_ happenned less and less.

 And, one night, as only the two of you sat around the campfire (at a safe distance), he touched your your index finger with his - an invitation for you to decide how far was too far. You, having nothing left to lose, and no reason to hold back, held his (much larger) hand in yours. He would definitely be worth it in the end, you decided.

 Weeks of handholding passed, and Alistair kissed you. Immidietally, he blushed a furious red, and stuttered out apologies about how all of it was probably too soon for you, his calloused hands still lightly hovering on the heated skin of your cheeks. For the first time in what must have been years, you cracked a joke of your own ("I'll need to do more testing"), and the two of you laughed harder than you thought was even still possible - for either of you.

 And, as most relationships grow, handholding and kisses grow to sexual tension, and sexual attention tend to lead to sex itself. The very thought terrified you - of being so very  _intimate_ with someone for the first time in your little life, of being so incredibly  _vulnerable_ at the complete mercy of the other person. For all you knew, he could strangle her to death while still inside of you, it could've been his plan all along. But, when you asked him about...  _it,_ and he replied with a not-so-subtle joke about him still being a virgin ("Have I what? Ever licked a lamppost in winter?"), you felt slightly better about it all.

 That night, he joined you in your tent, relinquished his control to you - again - and let you set the pace. You felt guilty that it all had to be more of a learning experience than an actual first time, but he quickly extinguished those thoughts when he came, followed closely by yourself. He even said that he loved you afterwards, chuckling at your sense of humour, and you found yourself saying it back.

(You'd never admit it, but it felt like a truly giant weight lifted off of your shoulders.)

 But, as the rule of your life goes, happiness could only last for so long. Ha, how  _stupid_ could you be to think that you could fall in love?

When it was discovered that Alistair was to be crowned king and to marry Anora so that they could rule side by side, a choice had to be made. He didn't want to hurt you,  _he_   _loved_ _you_ , but neither of you could see how it would ever be possible for either of you to  _not_ be harmed in some kind of way. You put on a brave smile, though, swallowing the sharp lump in your throat, ignoring the way it cut like knives on the way down, forcing your tears to stay firmly inside until you were somewhere else, and told him what you wanted to believe, but couldn't bring yourself to ("you cannot force a king to do something he does not want to").

 He kissed you one last time, and you met with Morrigan to see what she needed from you. She offered you a way to survive The Archdemon, to live to see your very own glory, to become a part of history and to be alive to witness it. After she had finished her explanation, you stared at her -  _through her_ \- in silence for so long she began to worry you had fallen asleep standing up with your eyes open. Finally, you smiled, and walked out of the room ("goodnight, Morrigan").

* * *

 

 The goodbyes you shared with your friends were tearful and made an old, broken part inside of you twinge with a sense of familiarity. The fight to get to The Archdemon was grueling, to say the very least, but it filled you with a sense of suicidal determination. There were many times when you thought you might die, only to force yourself back up again (" _Not. Yet._ ") and battle with what little you had left in you.

 Seeing The Archdemon was terrifying, nothing anyone had  _ever_ said could have prepared you for the true horror that stood before you. Not your father, not Alistair, King Cailan, not even Duncan. The only thing more surprising than the beast in front of you was the way  _he_ pulled you aside and begged you not to do it, not to throw away your life, not to  _kill yourself_. He begged you to let him do it instead, and it got to the point where you had to put your (much smaller) hands in his, rubbing the marred skin with your thumbs, finally allowing the tears you had been keeping hidden for so many years now to fall, along with his own. He cupped your cheeks gently, much like the first time he kissed you, still begging, letting out a litany of prayers to you and hundreds of 'please's. He rested his forehead on yours as you whispered a final "I love you," and finished it all with a kiss.

 You threw yourself at the monster at your feet, driving a sword into its flesh while your friends (and lover) watched. The pain that tore through you like wave after wave of soldiers burned in your veins like the darkspawn blood of your joining, until it finally went numb.

 And finally,  _finally, **finally**_ , you were gone.

You we're never meant to have nice things, but, for the first and final time, you allowed yourself to be selfish.

**Author's Note:**

> There are probably a whole lot of spelling mistakes  
> I wrote this at 2 AM instead of dealing with my actual problems  
> So uh  
> Cut me some slack yknow


End file.
